The night sky above Voss was a brilliant purple and black during the cold season. Imperial Stormtrooper Jafan sat on a plastoid camp chair slightly downwind from the bonfire the men had made. His frosted breath did a pirouette: rising, dissipating within the warm gusts from the fire; the breath of his life was re-absorbed into the anonymous deep.

Like all the men, he wore loose-fitting gray fatigues this night, spending some precious time away from being encased in duty armor. He sat slightly apart from the others, and just far enough away from the fire to catch some warmth without the danger of being singed. He could feel the fire's heat and the evening's chill jostle over one other within each gust of wind. A standard Imperial navy blanket was folded to cushion his backside on the chair, and another wrapped over his back and partially shielding his face, resisting the evening chill that tried to pull the warmth from his body to dissolve away within itself.

Jafan had been on Voss with this garrison for nearly ten years now. He was a skilled veteran, an efficient, masterful killer in his youth, and a sturdy, confident leader of men heading now into middle age. A patch of thick dark hair on his head was now a close cropped thatch of gray and white, much like the stormtrooper shell he covered it with. He was Centopt of the garrison; a non-commissioned officer nominally in charge of 100 elite stormtroopers.

The men had adopted this tradition of the Voss natives. Bonfires would be held on cool nights when the stars were at their most brilliant, speckling the dark violet tapestry of the night with floating cinders. The Voss considered nights like these as times when the celestial gates opened, and their mystics could speak plainly to their gods through a fire. This was the time of year when the two moons would rise in mid-evening, illuminating the shimmering lights which danced at the edge of the horizon.

A massive, black-stone castle loomed over the garrison. In this part of Voss, high above the Nightmare Lands, the vast natural tapestry of gold and green treetops along the mountains was juxtaposed by the singular instance of the structure of ordered, angled stone rising up on the highest mountain within sight. Built centuries ago, it alone bore witness that among the chaos of the natural beauty, some beings with purposeful, organized minds had once endeavored to leave their mark here.

Under the castle was the garrison with the only remaining Imperial-built structures for thousands of kliks in any direction. Their curved plasteel and plastoid huts were in the shadow of the castle's four massive spires, keeping them half-hidden to the sky. Aside from the massive keep, they were at the very highest point that could be seen in any direction. Any ambush would have to come from above. The deflector shield, which formed a bubble over the castle and the mountaintop, was their protection against that.

Between the ancient ruin of a castle of carved crystallized volcanic rock rising above him in the inky night, and the vast wilderness beneath him, Jafan felt himself truly a tiny alien specimen light years from what anyone in the mechanized order of the Galactic Empire would call "civilization." And besides, the Emperor was dead.

The news had come in as wild rumors, dismissed with a quick snort by Private Vancil at the signal station. But Jafan was certain.

Since his youth, he trusted his instincts, feeling a certainty of death or danger as though there were an extra eye within his head. In the city-scape of the moon of Nar Shadaa where he was raised, this sense had saved his life on many an occasion. His comrades jokingly called it his "other eye" to know when danger was around the corner, or some stranger's placid face hid some evil schemes. The other eye served him well, gave him warning to get the drop on those street level predators who smiled harmlessly while holding vibroknives hidden in cloaks. This made him a formidable fighter. He had a lifetime of fighting, surviving the rough streets between the dens of gamblers and whores, all the way to fighting for the Emperor in the 38th division while wearing gleaming plastoid armor on a dozen different worlds. Fighting was what he knew, fighting was how he stayed alive; he learned it early in a place where life was little more precious than the price of a back-alley blade that would quickly end it.

Jafan had felt a shiver come over him on patrol that day in the forest. Despite the necessity of keeping face to the men, he had fallen to his knees, shaking with a vision of destruction he had felt in his bones. These senses he had long trusted assured him that the Emperor was dead. That was four days before the official, confidential confirmation of the disaster at Endor came in on a secure channel. It was a different secure channel than where such orders had normally come from, and Captain Tiehel had scoffed and insisted it was a Rebellion ruse. Jafan suggested that the orders came from unknown channels only because the known channels no longer existed.

Only the few who drew picket duty were in their shells and out in the darkness now. Nearly the entire garrison gathered at the bonfire. The troopers had shed the overskin¹ suit as well, taking the opportunity to wear the light, gray fatigues used only for inner-perimeter duty, letting their skin feel cool, natural air for an extended period of time for a change. Their shouts and boasts were a cacophony over the crackling, burning wood. They did as troops will do when off duty and releasing tension; laughing and making obscene boasts and challenges to each other. They were getting drunk, but still in a joyous way, as the yelps and calls of the men breaking out in wrestling matches were still spontaneous and sporting, not dangerous and vengeful as these things might get if they went on too long.

Bonfires had become a tradition among the Voss garrison as a time to grill real meat, not algal² simulants, caught from a hunting party sent out early in the morning. These celebrations were reserved for holidays or celebrations. A gloom of futility had hung over the troop lately with the state of the Empire posing an open question about their fate. Jafan requested the bonfire celebration for the men to allow them to release some of this tension, to distract them from the thought of the Empire's politics, and even worse, of the fate of thousands of their brothers Palpatine likely took with him. Captain Tiehel had agreed almost without hesitation. The Captain had fixed his eyes on the holoscreens, tensing his jaw, and had hardly looked away since the news came down. Jafan knew his officer well enough to know his mind was racing, perhaps making calculations with the political machinations that may have involved his own connected family. The Centopt let it lie there once he had permission to proceed, as he knew whatever would be coming down the line from Tiehel for future orders may have been unpleasant, and he had no desire to press the matter.

Down the mountainside, the bonfires of the Voss natives themselves were visible from this distance. Their own mystics were overseeing their own rituals at their bonfires. Tylo-ko was down there, along with Qyr and Panna. Jafan normally would prefer to spend his nights in the Voss village with his wife and children, nearly an hour hike through trails and ruts to get down there, maybe only ten minutes by tauntaun. Since the fate of the Emperor had been known, he had made it a particular priority to be with and among the men of the troop.

Two grinning troopers made their way over to their seated NCO. Heff, his wide face split with a diagonal scar, was that much more terrifying when he was smiling, which he often did, given the jovial nature contrasting his imposing appearance. Corporal Desek, with the blue tint of his Chiss skin, was a bony and serious trooper, but he was smiling languidly now, holding two cups of grog.

"Hey, Top! Come out and join the fun! We don't see you much these days. And Rikka was boasting he could take you one-on-one."

Jafan was still squatting on the chair with the blanket slightly obscuring his face. He smiled and took the cup offered, swiftly throwing back his head to intake a swig of Vossik rum that made him shudder. Troops had always found a way to distill native vegetation on any planet they were on, he noted. "Airfield, latrine, still, and medical tent," was the order-of-priority joke among the engineers.

"He says that, huh? I'll have to take some time to school him." Jafan looked around.

"Wrestling is fine, but let's just get not get any DIPs³ tonight, okay?"

"Hah! That our Top! Rule come first!" Heff laughed. Nobody knew quite understood what planetary chain he was from, anyway, and it was a running joke that they didn't care to find out, either. His tenuous grasp on the language of Basic was always a source of comic relief for the garrison.

Jafan took another sip and straightened himself upright, stretching with the blanket at the end of his arms.

"Well, the captain said that he would come out and address the men tonight. He did not want to do it at muster. He agreed to let everyone enjoy the bonfire. So, yes, I'm keeping my other eye on him, wherever he is. I'll get to kicking Rikka's shell in, once I'm certain Tiehel isn't sending us to invade Coruscant."

Heff looked frightened, but Desek smirked, getting the joke.

"Top, do you think we're going to move out, though? For real?"

This garrison was considered elite, full of veterans transferred in, mostly from the 38th, but it had never actually seen combat as a unit. They were guards, for sure, but for a target that no one had ever dared to approach.

Jafan worked the metal cup in his hand, taking another bracing sip.

"Well, I will tell you this much. All my senses tell me that Vader is not coming back. Although I sense that… he is sending something here, somehow. I expect our excellent, talented, and brilliant CO will inform us."

Heff still looked perplexed, but Desek grinned, getting the other subtle dig at their superior. Captain Tiehel was not widely liked among the troops. He played the part of an officer well enough: wiry, sallow, serious, and just the right accent and inflection, which maybe was enough for a cruel member of the ruling class who didn't lift a blaster or anything heavy for a living. He was from an ambitious family, too, and was inevitably restless, which left Jafan's other eye very much on guard for what he may be planning next.

Jafan walked with his men over to the circle adjacent to the flames. There were two inebriated stormtroopers in their light fatigues engaged in a wrestling match. They each were trying to get one another into armlocks so as to push the other out of the ring. Their shouts changed in pitch as the Centopt came into the midst. Still with the blanket wrapped around him, he looked less like a stormtrooper than a holovid pantomime of an old-time Jedi wizard. The men were about to stiffen into a salute with their open palms.

"At ease, men!" Jafan shouted above the crowd noise. "Don't stop on my part! Keep it up! I'll take on the winner!" The men hollered more at this. Corporals Korra and Gavvra, who were in the circle, lunged toward each other, grunting and snorting as they gleefully tried to topple one another. In the moment of distraction, Gavvra had got a leg in just behind Korra, tripping him up and tossing the slightly smaller man up and out of the ring. Now the men were shouting to overlap one another, groups taking sides as to whether it was a fair hit or not.

Jafan saw Sergeant Kale walking up to the group from the darkness with an expression which betrayed he had news. Kale was noticeable right away given his height and his prominent eyebrows. Kale was a Master Sergeant, below Jafan among the non-coms, and the Centopt did not care much personally for his junior. He found Kale to be the very model of the newer, younger stormtroopers who had come up as of late in the Empire: full of experience in terrorizing a placated population, swollen with contempt and grafted muscle, but never scarred in battle against foes who actually fought back. Jafan, when he cared to reflect on it, wondered if this was indicative of the degeneration that had taken place within the Empire to prompt the Rebel terrorist cause to grow so popular.

Kale met his eyes, unsmiling. He came over to the Centopt and saluted quickly. Jafan returned it half-heartedly. Kale leaned in and spoke confidentially. "The Captain wishes to speak with the garrison in five minutes." Jafan betrayed no expression, but he was both alarmed and annoyed at this. Now, as the men were celebrating and relaxing? Nodding, he acknowledged Kale's information. "Alright then." He turned and whipped the blanket off over his shoulders. He stood straight to address the troop in the tone he used to sound commanding.

"Garrison, listen up! Gather up for a minute! First things: Captain Tiehel is going to speak to us in about five minutes! We'll find out what this is all about at that time."

The men were silent, pondering what this could mean. For a moment there was only a sound of the fire's consumption of the piled wood. Jafan timed his speech for the effect as he changed his tone to one more jovial.

"Meanwhile, Gavvra, you've earned the right to taste my boot up your rear!"

The men roared in appreciation as their Centopt entered the ring. Gavvra wiped some dirt from his face and bounced up and down. Not many of the troop could beat their scarred, older NCO, so this was a rare treat to take him on.

The troop chanted as the two men met. The younger man, Gavvra, was taller and in shape, but Jafan planted himself sturdily on his ground. He was still as strong as ever, but didn't have the wind of the younger man. They wheezed, pushing against each other for seconds at a time, then separated, pushing off and circling. Finally, the older man grunted, and lifted Gavvra slightly, getting him off balance enough to shove him beyond the circle. The men cheered. Jafan was panting, exhausted now, feeling his age and the Vossik rum gone to his head. Sergeant Kale now yelled.

"Atten-shuh! Officer on deck!"

The men quickly spun and snapped to attention. Captain Tiehel, with a flair for catching the troop off guard, walked calmly through the crowd with his hands behind his back. There was nothing informal about him, as he was still dressed in the black Imperial officer's uniform. He lifted his arm to return salutes with an open hand.

"At ease, men! Gather up!"

The troop surrounded him, most of them at parade rest. Tiehel's aide, Corporal Evonn placed down a folding stool which the captain mounted, allowing him to stand a couple of heads above the assembled troop, visible to all of them.

"Voss Garrison!" he addressed them by their unit's name. "You are the elite garrison at this place, and you are all veterans of this war. We all know that things have happened and our situation has changed."

The troops were silent now, understanding the seriousness of what was being unveiled.

"We have word that there is an official transfer of authority. Lord Vader is no more. We have received notice that Vader's son is now claiming to be Lord of this place by right of inheritance."

The last words dripped sourly from Tiehel's mouth. The troops looked at one another. Vader's son?

"We've all heard the stories. The Rebels who confronted and murdered the Emperor – well, apparently one of them was reputedly Vader's son. Yes, a Rebel, who confronted and conspired with Vader and killed the Emperor. That is what we have been told."

Jafan was definitely interested in this. He never quite did understand Vader in the times he had met the man. He was fierce, legendarily merciless in his duty, but there was a withdrawn sadness and quiet in him the last time he saw the Lord, many months ago. He was internally entertained that Vader, so much the scourge of the Rebellion and the Emperor's favorite, might have had something to do with turning around and killing Palpatine like some rumors had suggested. But his son? He never would have thought such a thing were possible. The old man was full of surprises.

Tiehel continued. "All of you took an oath to the Empire and to the Emperor. This leaves us in between masters. The Rebels have claimed that we owe duty to them as members of the garrison!"

There was a loud murmur now as the men buzzed among themselves. Several expletives were shouted out loud at that. Tiehel held up a hand for quiet.

Enjoy this, Tiehel, thought Jafan. You won't get the undivided attention of the garrison like this for long.

The Captain continued. "I have no interest in serving a Rebel usurper. I will be leaving this place at 0600 sharp tomorrow. I have arranged for shuttle deployment to our nearest muster point, at the Imperial fleet assembled near Hutta. Both Lambda shuttles here will be adequate to evacuate us all, as well as the equipment which we can carry. The Rebel usurper will be here to claim to take official control at 0800, and I intend to be gone. All of you are welcome to come with me."

Jafan felt a sudden pit in his stomach, and an emptiness, as if the blood in his chest had suddenly poured out from a cracked chalice. At that moment he felt the first pangs of genuine fear. The death of the Emperor, even Vader, had not phased him much. Not even the contemplation of the fall of the Empire itself. But losing the garrison — and his family — filled him with a genuine sense of panic.

"There is no higher approval to issue these orders. However, I have been in touch with the fleet. You will all be expected. And you will be accommodated."

Jafan was aware suddenly of a tingling on his neck. He was aware of the blaster he had on his belt. Just a duty, hand-held thing. He could get off near 80 shots with the plasma coil in it, if necessary. Then he counseled himself. Why are you even having these thoughts?

Surely some of the men wouldn't want to go along with Tiehel's retreat. Many of them surely would disappear into the Voss night before the evacuation. That was not Jafan's style, however. He would never disobey a superior without telling that superior exactly why he was doing it. It was a matter of pride for him.

Tiehel continued. "I recognize the short warning with these arrangements. Many of you will have goodbyes to arrange with locals. Take your time to do-so but make it quick. Tomorrow, we sleep on the fleet. Are there any questions?"

The troop were silent. They looked at one another, grimly. Many looked panicked as well. The rum still warmed their insides and softened the edges of their minds, making the whole situation seem unreal in their minds. Jafan realized the moment to speak was present. As the ranking trooper, it was his prerogative to do so. He cleared his throat.

"Sir…?"

"Yes, Centopt?"

"But the garrison. Sir… we are the guard for the castle. To abandon it…?"

Captain Tiehel's nostrils flared.

"That is what the Rebels expect, indeed. Do you forget yourself, Centopt? Do you forget your honor? Your oath?"

Jafan's tongue was loosened now.

"No, Sir. With respect, I am mindful of our place here. I also recall orders were clear about surrendering Imperial territory. I intend to do my duty should any Rebel want to seize this territory. We have been sworn to man this post. And, frankly, Sir, where are the orders coming from now which would require us to join the fleet?"

Jafan hesitated on the word "seize." He felt his emotions getting the better of him. But an old non-com knew how to be patient with officers, and he moderated the emotion in his voice, ameliorating his tone, to lessen any obvious signs of fear. He continued.

"Sir, I did take an oath to Emperor Palpatine. He is dead. I took an oath to the Imperial high command. Which is also apparently gone. I also took an oath to defend this Voss garrison and the Castle of Lord Vader. Vader is dead, but by right if his son is coming, I won't surrender it under duress. If the son is truly the heir to the Lord, I believe my duty to maintain my post until I am relieved or dead is quite clear."

Jafan was careful now. He knew he was just shy of being reckless. He could tell his words had met their mark in the men, who were no longer fully prepared to follow the captain as a matter of course. The Captain was aligned with the Coruscant ruling class. He had things to lose if the Empire fell. Jafan, and many of his troops, had only themselves and their kit, and the life they had built for themselves here at this garrison and with the Voss. He chafed at the assumption they would automatically jump at the chance to become Imperial cannon fodder when there was no longer even an Emperor. Tiehel, either through ignorance or arrogance, had an expectation that most of the stormtroopers would behave like automatons and follow him in due course. Even though Tiehel was in charge, he had no authority beyond that which was granted to him by his superiors. Jafan was older than all his men, though, and had seen much in his years, and he was not nearly as eager to simply follow any officer simply because of momentum.

"With respect, Sir… The Empire's order seems to be gone. I have little notion but that this our home and our post to defend. To take part now would seem to be taking sides in… a civil war."

Sergeant Kale stepped forward, his face was almost purple as he addressed the Centopt with a hiss. "You dare! The Empire is in trouble, and you're refusing to fight? By right, I should cut you down as a traitor!"

Jafan's face betrayed no emotion at this bluster, but he met his junior sergeant's face with perfect equanimity.

"If you think you're up to it, Kale, please, try your best." Jafan's arms remained at parade rest behind his cloth uniform. He could see Kale working up the nerve, but he sensed there would be no danger without further provocation.

Jafan no longer cared. Keeping his gaze on Kale, he continued.

"I will remind the captain that I recall Vader himself did not take kindly to disloyalty to his command. I follow the precedent set forth by our last orders."

Tiehel's face remained neutral, but he seemed to swallow hard. Kale spoke again.

"You are a liar, Jafan! You have switched your loyalty to these Voss savages! You wish to remain here with your toad-woman and your spawn! You've no loyalty to the Empire! To the cause!"

Kale had effortlessly used a nasty slur against the Voss. As their alien skin glittered with bright colors and patterns, they were sometimes referred to as "toads" by the less graceful humanoids of the Empire.

Jafan's face still did not change, but his hands were no longer clasped behind his back. He walked with a steady gait toward Kale, saying nothing. The purpose was clear from a veteran like Jafan that he was on a straightforward trajectory to kill the sergeant for that insult. Kale involuntarily began to drop back as the Centopt approached, and as the men around realized what was happening, in a panic they grabbed at the Centopt. Soon, a scrum of troopers had engaged to form a wall to keep them apart.

Jafan was snarling now as he met resistance with the wave of bodies surging to keep the two NCOs from killing one another. Kale suddenly twisted his face as well, now that the crowd of troopers swarmed, and he was safe. Above them all, Captain Tiehel's mouth was dry, starting to speak more than a few times and stammering. He could see the situation was growing out of control.

"… m-men… MEN!" Tiehel screamed. The garrison stopped moving slightly. Tiehel knew he was out of his depth. As an officer, he knew the troops he commanded were disciplined. But unleashed, they were trained in all manners of frightening violence. And with the Empire unraveling, this would not likely end well if discipline were lost.

Seeing that the peace wouldn't last as the men continued to work up their nerve, he spoke quickly.

"Let Jafan stay! If you wish to fight to defend this place, then so be it! I don't believe a Rebel ruse such as Vader having a son. But let Jafan stay if he has such a death wish! I expect everyone else to leave with me. You men have your orders. I expect you all to say your farewells and pack your things. We leave in the morning. The garrison is dismissed!"

Some men reflexively saluted as Captain Tiehel dismounted while most just stared. As the captain walked off, quickly, toward the command tent and his bunker, the men now truly broke up into groups and began talking. No one was interested in wrestling any more. Kale shot a serious look at Jafan, and both men locked stares for a moment, before Kale turned and strolled to the barracks, surrounded by most of the men. The stormtroopers now had a mission to fulfill, and their training kicked in, allowing each to funnel his troubled mind into duty. A smaller group stayed at the fire, murmuring, as they discussed plans on what to do next.

The garrison had seemed to split organically now, between those who would go, and a few who would stay. Jafan could see Desek and Heff were with him. Private Rikka, young and fearless was there as well. Balia stayed; he was a species nobody quite understood or could pronounce, with pale skin and green eyes and covered in very short, downy tan fur, but still humanoid enough to be a stormtrooper. Jafan was pleased to see a core of his best, loyal veterans stayed with him. Two dozen others stood there as well, no doubt deciding what to do next. Most were young and homesick for places they might yet return to, so they were eager enough to get off this backwater assignment. Other men had married grown to love the planet, including falling in love with some of the Voss as well. Many others were terrified, as making decisions – including life and death – were up until now entirely made for them. Facing an actual choice was agony to a stormtrooper.

There was a pause in the commotion after all the men had drifted off to their respective corners. The moons had yet to rise, and there was still a bonfire raging. The meat would be grilled, the grog consumed. And in the morning, the others would sleepily board the Tydirium Lambda shuttle and bid farewell to Voss. Jafan looked out over his men and he could see they were waiting for him to speak.

He exhaled. "Is Vancil here?"

"Sir?"

"Inform the perimeter patrol of what has happened. Make it clear that they are free to go with Tiehel, or they can stay here with the garrison."

He didn't know whether the garrison would be more than himself and one or two others who decided to stay, but it didn't matter any more. He turned to the men.

"If you wish to stay, you are welcome to join me. Five minutes to finish your food and cups. After that, all troopers get into your shells! Arm up! Until we know otherwise, we may have a fight on our hands in the morning."

Jafan spoke to imply fighting the Rebels who were coming, but foremost on his mind were Tiehel and Kale, and treachery. He pondered stormtrooper on stormtrooper violence. This is what the Palpatine and the Rebellion has brought us, has it?

The men eagerly began to finish their food and drink, playing a part of being in no obvious hurry. The prospect of violence focused their minds, and they resented that the meat was not enjoyed as much as they had planned. But it was efficiently consumed as though they were ripping open packs of algals in the field. They passed around the grog, though, savoring their last drinks. Imperial discipline frowned on troops going into battle inebriated, but it was common enough to be unspoken that grog, stim, and spice were all greedily consumed while men worked up the nerve to kill and be killed.

Jafan now stood slightly apart from the men. He walked to where the meat was grilling on spits above the coals. He pulled a striated sliver of wild nerff off the spit and began to chew. Small pleasures. The old instincts took over; take stock of your time and all your totems; this may be all there is. He walked with his men, calmly, gathering up to return to the armory. Those with sidearms held a hand on them, even though they half-suspected Kale might open up on them with a turret. Jafan felt certain Kale would want to, but would only be held back by the reality that it would damage morale for the rest of the garrison beyond repair, and thus put Kale's life in danger if they started killing one another now. Jafan counted on Kale's cowardice serving to stay his homicidal irrationality.

Jafan preferred not to think about what the Empire had become. But there were stories: villages ravaged, civilians sacrificed, outspoken members of the nobility and the guilds being tortured and thrown into dungeons, and the destruction of planets to set examples by fear. He had seen the first rumblings himself when he was a young stormtrooper at the Correllia uprising. The garrison had never been told that saving the Voss village was a priority, but knowing what the Empire was capable of, he would take a stance if he had to for the only beings in the galaxy he loved more than his brothers in arms.

Several stormtroopers in the base were now moving swiftly, stuffing cases full of belongings, as well as souvenirs of Voss such as seeds, trinkets, or carvings. The men could be inexplicably sentimental about the small things they carried with them.

They were Vader's garrison. Elite troops guarding a sensitive target which no one would have dared attack, anyway. For them, all this time, it was a holiday from the real wars going on across the galaxy. Now it seemed that war, or at least one of its orphans, was coming for them at last.

¹Overskin: The black, bio-mechanical black suit worn under stormtrooper armor which vitally regulated skin health with a living lattice of bacteria within a mesh exo-layer. The suits were expensively customized with specialized nano-particles which would react to temperature and moisture to regulating temperature. In case of pressure differentials in dangerous atmosphere conditions, they would constrict the body to alleviate swelling or pressure sickness. They also would constrict around tears, and sense any bodily wounds, keeping pressure on any body punctures so as to minimize bleeding until first aid could be administered. The suits contained a circulatory system of bio-engineered life with an alkaline solution. They would absorb excess oil and sweat from the skin, digesting it into solid form that could be emptied from pouches, keeping the bacteria of the skin's surface always at optimized balanced. The troopers would be comfortable and sanitary in the suits for six days without occurring much wear, and could be worn much longer in necessity. They were a primary way that stormtroopers could remain alert and effective for long periods of time in a variety of climates and conditions.

²Algal: Vat grown, bio-engineered food substances. With sunlight, water, and salts, it can imitate the taste and texture of just about any organic matter, including flesh.

³DIP: Damage to Imperial Property: a particularly annoying demerit for the troops issued when a trooper did something stupid which results in Damage to Imperial Property, i.e., usually their own body.